


Just a Little Turbulence

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsheplets, M/M, unresearched plane mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Aren’t you a pilot?  Shouldn’t you love flying?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "mcsheplets" prompt #136 "rough"

Their plane had been in the air for nearly twenty minutes, but John hadn’t relaxed in the slightest. Rodney, who had powered up his laptop the moment the seatbelt light went off, frowned at him.

“Aren’t you a pilot?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you love flying?”

“I love when _I’m_ flying,” John replied. “Do you like watching other people fix stuff?”

“Other people are incompetent morons,” Rodney snapped. “But I see your point. Except for the part where you then willingly got on this plane.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be this bad. It’s been a long time since I’ve flown commercial.”

“Plus there’s the very obvious problem that you’re not the one flying this thing, Mr. Control Issues.”

“That’s Lieutenant Colonel Control Issues,” said John. “And— Did you hear that?”

Above them, the ‘fasten seatbelts’ sign lit up again.

“ _This is the captain speaking_ ,” came a voice over the PA. “ _We’ve run into a bit of turbulence. Please remain in your seats until we reach a calmer stretch of sky. Thank you._ ”

“See?” said Rodney. “Just some turbulence. And I hope you realize how bad it is that I’m the calm and rational one in this situation.”

“I’m not being irrational,” John hissed. “And this is not just turbulence.”

“Okay, now you’re—” Rodney broke off suddenly. It was hard to hear above the hum of conversations and wailing children, but it was there, a subtle whine in the roar of the engines. “We’ve got to talk to the pilot.”

“Yes, exactly,” John agreed.

They were only half-way down the aisle when a flight attendant stopped them. “You need to stay in your seats, sirs.”

“There’s something wrong with your plane,” Rodney told her bluntly. “And if you don’t let me fix it, we’re all going to die.”

She scowled, and John added a ‘calm the crazy natives’ smile. “Dr. McKay is a physicist with the Air Force,” he explained. “It would really help if we could talk to the pilot.”

She scowled again, but waved them forward. “All right,” she said, and led them out of the passenger section. “We didn’t want to alarm the passengers, but there’s something not right with the instruments. Can you really fix it?”

“I can fix anything,” said Rodney.

The cockpit was quiet when they entered, and Rodney could see that the pilot had a white-knuckled grip on the controls.

“Marcy,” the pilot snapped. “We’re not giving tours today.”

“We’re here to help,” said John. He pointed over the pilot’s shoulder. “Your nose is falling, but your altimeter’s not showing the change.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, but pulled back on the controls a little. “Do you even have clearance to be here?”

“I have higher clearance than you’re even supposed to know about,” said Rodney. “Sheppard, which gauges aren’t registering right?”

John scanned the displays. “Nearly all of them. All the external readings, and several of the internal ones.”

“Then it’s electrical,” said Rodney. “That many sensors can’t go bad, even on inferior, outdated equipment like this. You,” he added, pointing at the flight attendant. “Get my laptop. And a tool kit, if you can find one.”

“Are you telling me,” said the co-pilot, who looked much too young to even assist in flying a plane, “that you want to try fixing our onboard electrical systems while we’re _in the air_?”

“No,” said Rodney. “I am going to fix it while we’re in the air. Ah, good.”

Marcy handed him the laptop, then passed a small toolbox to John. “He does know what he’s doing, right?”

“And then some,” John assured her. “Right, Rodney?”

“Shut up, I’m busy.” Rodney typed furiously on his laptop. “Take us up another four thousand feet…”

Before the pilot could respond, the plane began shaking— they’d hit another burst of rough winds. Rodney ducked under the console and began pulling off the metal panels. John tapped the co-pilot’s shoulder.

“Out,” he said shortly. The younger man opened his mouth to protest, but he cut him off, “Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, US Air Force. I’m an active-duty combat pilot, and I have a feeling this is going to be a bumpy ride.”

The co-pilot gulped, then nodded and let John take his place. “You got a problem with this?” he asked the pilot.

The other man glanced sideways at him. “Active-duty combat?” he repeated, and John could see him angling the plane higher, like Rodney had said.

“Yeah. McKay, how’s it going?”

“How do you think?” came the muffled reply. “Can’t you keep this thing steady?”

“That depends,” said John. “Can you give me any readouts back?”

“Um… sure.” Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Rodney pulling out wires, half-hidden under the console.

Without warning, the plane began diving rapidly. John pulled back hard on the controls. Around him, the physical gauges began spinning wildly, while the digital ones blinked on and off.

“McKay!” yelled John.

“Fixing it!” Rodney yelled back.

John ignored the malfunctioning gauges and fell back on his pilot training. He’d always been a natural in the air— able to sense his craft as if it was an extension of himself. In the puddle jumpers, he didn’t often use his skills, and he was glad to see he hadn’t lost them.

Beside him, the plane’s original pilot was wildly hitting switches and dials. “We’re losing altitude!” he cried.

“Just keep her steady,” said John.

The pilot nodded, and they struggled to keep the plane level. Then, suddenly, they evened out. All the gauges slowed, stopping at accurate readings. 

“It… it worked,” the pilot said, almost incredulous. “Everything’s reading right again.”

When they had reached cruising altitude again, he hit the intercom. “This is the captain,” he said, managing to sound calm. “Sorry for the bumpy ride, folks. Please stay in your seats until we can be sure the turbulence is behind us. Thanks for your patience.”

Rodney slid out from under the console and got to his feet. “Yeah, sure, _don’t_ thank the guy who just saved all your lives.”

Grinning, John moved to let the co-pilot have his seat back. “Yes, Rodney, you’ve saved the day again.” He reached out to wipe a streak of oil from Rodney’s face. “I’ll thank you properly, later, okay?”

Several hours later, when they’d given their statements to the FFA agents, John and Rodney pulled into the driveway of Jeannie’s house. She grinned at them when she opened the door. 

“You’re late!” she said. “But I’m glad to see you both. How was your flight?”

They exchanged looks. “It was fine,” they chorused. 

THE END


End file.
